


To Wake Among the Figs in Spring

by sybun



Category: 20th Century CE RPF, Original Work, World War I - Fandom
Genre: Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Military Homophobia, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Soldiers, Tension, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-22 05:34:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14301891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sybun/pseuds/sybun
Summary: A fictional narrative set during World War I wherein a bastardized form of love blossoms between two soldiers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and, as such, some details may not be completely historically accurate. Nonetheless, I hope you all enjoy.

Private Roy Brunner, March 19, 1917

The most marked event that occurred the day I arrived in northern France was the shocking sight of the bucolic landscape lain before me like an archaic tome. The rolling hills and bubbling streams embedded in the verdant foliage of the Bar-le-Duc prefecture were in stark contrast to anything I'd seen before in my urban and bustling hometown of Milwaukee. It was apparent that I was now inhabiting some sort of seraphic community manifested by the presence of many other men who had fallen victim to the same fate as me. There was a war going on for which we were picked to be its fodder. There was now a damning wedge driven into the comfort of our daily lives and I could no longer sleep, eat, or breathe in complete comfort again until it was all over.  
The night I arrived in France, I was given a new home that rather looked like a deteriorated white stone fortress - the confines of which I would share with countless others whom I had no intimations with and who more often than not looked nervous as Hell. However, I found myself near constantly surrounded by one genus of peculiar men and it was perhaps inevitable that I would be drawn to their table where they conversed and engaged in light horseplay under the flickering the light. It seemed as if the fort shook when some of them spoke and I was naturally inclined to the origin. I leaned against the sturdy brick and by word of mouth became familiar with their names: a Turk by the name of Jack Burakgazi, a Spaniard by the name of Henry Cardoso, a Swede by the name of Charles Bergman, a Frenchman by the name of Thomas Desrosiers, a Russian by the name of George Orlov, and a Serbian by the name of Andrew Pavlović. They were all Americans, but their ethnic backgrounds did not far escape them.  
Of all the men I walked past, conversed with, or otherwise observed, none of them donned such a curious quality as the six soldiers I previously described - but I felt strangely and inexplicably drawn to Sergeant Pavlović in particular. I received the impression that he had complete control over the others despite the presence of two others of his ranking. He seemed to bring comfort and a sense of familiarity in a landscape whose inhabitants knew not of their surroundings nor the intentions of their comrades. What is more, the way in which he conducted himself made it clear that he was a vigorously charming young man - I later assumed him (correctly) to be around the age of 23. I, in contrast, was two years his junior and had not the commanding will that he impressed on others.  
I paid not much attention to the others and eventually felt the overwhelming need to withdraw to the bunks where I could find a few moments rest. The wound to my comfort needed time to mend and one of the last places where I could find such consolation was in sleep. But, before I dove into my dreams, I was overcome by an urge to smoke and consequently wandered outside under the vast sky. I looked upwards through the thin haze and noted that its color was comparable to that of ocean depths pulsing with the white glow of snakelike and forbidden creatures. It was cold and I stood there with a shiver in the fabric of my olive-colored armor. There was only a few others out near the entrance and they stood under the starlight for the same purpose as I.  
Tomorrow was the first day of Spring and I could faintly smell the coveted lilacs in bloom.

Private Roy Brunner, March 20, 1917

The next day I spent in France was tedious, and in the night I remained solitary and devoted to the pages of George Barr McCutcheon's "The Prince of Graustark" until the great wooden dining table I sat at was rowdily populated. As hard as I tried to ignore the fluctuating laughter and bodies shuffling around me, I was eventually pressed to look up from my book. There I found myself surrounded by that same genus of peculiar men that I observed the night before. To my left sat Sergeant Pavlović, and next to him in a clockwise motion the rest of the men filled in the chairs: Sergeant Orlov, Private Burakgazi, Sergeant Bergman, Private Cardoso, and Private Desrosiers. On my right was an empty chair.  
As much as I wanted to continue reading, the tranquility I had enjoyed was shattered by the interjection of these men at the table. I held my book in one hand and carefully observed them from behind the pages; Private Desrosiers was rather quiet in comparison to the rest of them, who ranged from near shouting to near shoving each other off of the chairs. I also took note of Sergeant Pavlović to my left, who seemed to almost be mimicking me in watching all of the others. He was a large man in that he was rather well-built and likely around 6'3" - four inches taller than me. Additionally, he seemed to care deeply for his comrades - he observed them as if he were their caretaker. The man next to Sergeant Pavlović, Sergeant Orlov, was in fact rather similar to him in his handsomeness, but I could sense that he was excessively proud of his own abilities. He seemed to almost belittle the others with his commanding voice and challenging eye - I assumed he took great pleasure in listening to himself every time he spoke. The others were too rowdy for me to get a good look at, but I did notice Sergeant Bergman essentially glaring at me from across where he sat. His arms were crossed and he was upright with a strange look on his face. Bergman was rather pale and his hair was so blonde that under the light it appeared to luster like silver. Because he was often looking right at me, I also beheld the feral state of his eyes: They were light blue like crystalized ice which stressed the pinpoint blackness of his pupils. I tried to avoid meeting his glare by resuming my reading. However, it would appear that that would be impossible given the racket - I re-read the same sentence at least ten times. I thus engaged myself in listening to their conversation.  
"…I find France to be quite beautiful - the people in particular." Private Desrosiers said softly and when he spoke I noticed the extreme paleness of his skin that made him appear ill. His eyes were also of the shade of emerald, and his mannerisms gave me the impression that he was a sad person. Private Cardoso sneered at Private Desrosiers; it seemed to shut him down completely.  
"That's only 'cause you're a holy Frenchman yourself, Desrosiers. Am I the only poor bastard that thinks this place is ugly as Hell?" said Private Cardoso. He stretched his arms towards the ceiling and then looked around at everyone for agreement.  
"Yeah, yeah, I like it," Private Burakgazi shook his head, "I really like the grub: the cheese, the wine, the bread - baguettes…" He would have gone on and on if he was not interrupted by Private Cardoso, who looked rather agitated and rolled his eyes.  
"You're such a fat pig, Burakgazi. I don't care about the food, I'm talking about our surroundings. Where's the city? Where's the women? Where's my money?" He made a helpless gesture with his hands.  
"Give it a rest, Private," Orlov said, combing a hand through his brunette hair, "Patience is crucial. But you're right about the women. All I have is you bastards and you can't even pay me a compliment every once in a while." He put his elbow on the table and continued, "It's been so long since I've even seen a woman that I think I might go crazy and kill all of you."  
"I think you've already gone mad," Burakgazi smiled, "'Cause nobody's been telling you how damn great you are. That'll be the death of you - lack of somebody to kiss your ass."  
They all laughed at this to some extent and that was when I once again became cognizant at the fact that Sergeant Bergman was still glaring at me. He hadn't laughed, and I made the mistake of letting our gazes meet. The rest of the men were all still yipping and barking like hyenas when he spoke up. That was when everyone quieted down, like the type of quiet that happens when you sneak up on a chirping cricket.  
"So who's this fellow, anyways?" He sounded irked and took the opportunity to look me over and I truthfully felt fearful. Sergeant Pavlović sat up, put his hand snug on my shoulder, and for the first time began speaking.  
"This right here's Private Brunner." His voice remarkably stood out from the others' and his grip was oddly familiar - like that of a dear friend. I didn't know why he spoke for me but I accepted it and gave everyone a nod. Everyone nodded back, except of course Sergeant Bergman. I sensed that he had some burning dislike towards me and I hadn't any idea why.  
"The boy can speak for himself, can't he?" Bergman scoffed, "I don't much like him. Reeks like a fuckin' German." Nobody said anything in response and instead opted to dart their eyes around the room. I noticed that Sergeant Pavlović had removed his hand from my shoulder, but he was now looking at me and the feeling it gave me was one of solace. I felt that I shouldn't speak with Bergman around.  
"I can't stand you Kraut sons of bitches," He continued, slamming his fist down on the table and making it jump like a spring, "You're the reason why I'm out here risking my God damn life." He seemed calm at this point but I noticed him slightly fidgeting in his chair. His hand was still fisted up on the table and I noticed the numerous crimson and pink scars that were raked into his skin.  
"Knock it off, Bergman. He's an American, just like you." Sergeant Pavlović said. His voice was potent and his tone was stern but I doubted if it would succeed in appeasing the fuming bull in front of me. Bergman sat there with narrowed eyes and in some sort of dead heat with Pavlović. I didn't know what his next move was going to be - whether he would simmer down or blow up and cause a catastrophe. Pavlović's words must have gotten through to him, however, because Bergman eventually rose and walked away. Cardoso watched him leave. He began digging at Desrosiers's ribs with his elbow and raised his dark eyebrows in an amusing manner; Desrosiers was whining at him to knock it off but he had no authority. Burakgazi had a hand over his eyes and Orlov was tightlipped and had his fist planted on the table in a show of force. I looked toward Pavlović - who seemed a little vexed- and I shrugged. Then for some odd reason I felt my face warm up when Pavlović looked back at me with a half-smile. Though his eyes were directed towards mine, he seemed absentminded.  
"Well, it's late now isn't it?" Orlov sighed, "We should all get some rest."  
"Right." I agreed and started to rise from where I sat.  
"Yeah, especially you, Brunner. Getting scolded by Bergman takes a lot out of a fellow."  
I smiled back at him and nodded farewell to the rest. Then I began walking towards the bunks with my book in hand, leaving the five of them to their own devices.

Private Roy Brunner, March 21, 1917

The day after Spring's arrival I managed to find a moment's rest inside the fort - remarkably a good distance away from the others. I discovered it while wandering about the hallways. It was a strange dip in the brick that I assumed at one point or another was filled with supplies. One could look down the entrance to that hallway where the inlet was and the person standing inside would be entirely hidden. This architectural irregularity was where I planned to spend a couple moments to loosen and have a smoke.  
I sat there for a good while in the haze, pondering about how much longer I was going to be here. The whole idea of being so far removed from comfort nearly constantly pervaded my thoughts and I only wished to go home and continue leading the tranquil life I led. Before I came here, I hadn't any care for what I did each day, but I was now strictly regimented like a prisoner. It was not my choice to come to France. But I would, however, endure the pains in hopes that I could go home one day and resume that tranquility I once enjoyed.  
Once I had sat there for about ten minutes, I prepared to leave the inlet's seclusion when I suddenly became cognizant of the sound of footsteps. I was quite shocked, actually, that anybody would even come down this hallway as I thought it to be rarely traversed. The steps ceased to echo and thus became louder as the person came closer. I decided to stay seated on the freezing brick in hopes that whoever was there would simply pass by and thus not see me. However, the person walking by must have been scanning around anyways, because he inevitably saw me crouched as he passed to the side of the inlet. He stopped walking when he spotted me. I looked up to his face expecting to see a stranger, but instead met with the familiarity of Sergeant Pavlović. I didn't really know what to say, but I promptly stood to face him.  
"Sergeant." I said, my face without any particular emotion. It was then that I quickly knelt to the ground to put out my cigarette. I noticed that he was waiting for me to finish when I rose again.  
"Brunner," he nodded amiably, "Mind if I join you?" Though I was prepared to leave, I obliged him. I leaned against the wall as he stepped into the inlet, which rightly could have fit one more person. I will admit that, for some odd reason, being in his immediate presence was rather intimidating, but not the kind of intimidation that arose from Sergeant Bergman's scornful eye.  
He also took out a cigarette and lit it in the same way that I did. I stood there and watched him for a while as he stood a small distance across from me. In that moment, I was able to get a better look at him despite the nearest light being adjacent to where we were standing. He really was rather tall and his hair was of a golden-brown shade. This second evaluation of his handsomeness only supported my theory that he must have been popular with women. I was quite caught off guard when he abruptly looked back at me, as prior to this moment he had been looking upwards and blowing clouds of grayness towards the ceiling.  
"So where're you from, Brunner?"  
"Wisconsin," I responded, "Yourself?"  
"Ah, just a little bit below you. Raised in Illinois." He scratched his clean-shaven chin for a second and continued, "You miss home?"  
"Yeah, of course. None of us chose to be here."  
He looked down for a short while, holding the cigarette between two of his fingers.  
"Right," he said, "What is it that you miss about home?" I thought about it for a while. I didn't really miss anything in particular, just the familiarity of the landscape and the consequent warmth it gave me. I guess I also missed how everyday I could do as I willed rather than be ordered around like a child again. But, more often than not, I did nothing but idle about back home.  
"I miss my family," I shrugged, "What do you miss?"  
"I guess I'd say the same thing as you," he said, "You missin' your girl?"  
I laughed a little because I was not in any relationship at the time that I left. I'd only been in two before, and both girls broke it off first. They said I wasn't caring enough.  
"No," I shook my head, "I don't have any women right now." He slightly raised one of his brows.  
"Huh, shame. You liking it here, at least?" He smiled, "'Sides that sour son of a bitch Bergman."  
When he smiled at me I almost felt like blushing and I hadn't any idea why. Perhaps it was that his charm did not discriminate against the sexes.  
"Yeah, I suppose. As long as I can have a smoke every once in a while and get a good night's rest." I rubbed the back of my neck. He began to put out his cigarette and straightened up.  
"Glad to hear it." He slowly stepped out of the inlet and nodded at me, "I've got to get going. See you."  
Then he was gone and his footsteps echoed away. I looked out into the hallway after the silence returned and I was alone again. As I began to walk back into the fray, I wondered why and how Pavlović had found me.  
I eventually made it to the main part of the fort where I walked past all of the others, when I was swiftly put into a headlock by somebody who ran up from behind. It turned out to be Burakgazi, as I learned from looking at the tanned skin at my side.  
"Christ, what the Hell is wrong with you?" I tried to wriggle out and couldn't, despite being only slightly smaller in stature. Burakgazi was laughing and dragging me along as he walked so I eventually gave up. He let go after a moment and instead opted to sling his arm around my shoulders. He was a very physical fellow.  
"How's your day been, Roy?" I was a little surprised that he called me by my first name. I also couldn't help but notice how badly he reeked of tobacco, so I assumed that he was quite a heavy smoker.  
"Ah, it's been alright. You know." I didn't much feel like mentioning my encounter with Sergeant Pavlović. "I'm actually just ready to go to bed."  
"Bed?" He laughed heartily, "It's not even sunset yet!" He was right of course but I just felt immensely stressed the longer I was there.  
"Yeah, I know," I looked at him and beheld the interesting contrast between his dark hair and hazel eyes. "How's your day been?" His arm was still around me but he tightened it upon me asking that question.  
"God, don't even get me started. Between Bergman threatening to kill everyone and Orlov waving his dick around, I think I'm just about ready to jump in the Meuse river." I listened and he continued, "But I can't wait until we get to eat." I smiled when he said that and thought about how long it had been since I’d eaten that day. He sighed and let go of me when we reached the corridor that led outside.


	2. Chapter 2

Private Roy Brunner, March 21, 1917

Later that night I unfortunately awoke from my sleep and I suppose the reason was rather embarrassing. It would only make sense that being immersed in an all-male environment would evoke a barrage of racy dreams and create a problem that I could not tend to while in the midst of many others still awake. It was then I remembered that inlet in the wall down the hallway, and I readily decided that I wanted this and thus would not ignore it.  
I moved as quietly as I could to liberate myself from the covers and stand up. It was hard to be anything but loud in a place where it seemed even the drop of a bolt would echo mercilessly throughout the halls. There was pitch blackness all around save for the one light that stayed on outside the room. I followed that light and carefully stepped down the aisle. The sound was likely noticeable to anyone still awake, but I seemed to make it out unscathed. I next made my way towards that lone hallway intent on reaching that inlet, accomplishing my task, and then going back to sleep.   
When I stepped into the inlet, I felt nervous for some odd reason - like there was somebody watching me. But I looked out and around and, of course, nobody was there. It was just inevitable that I felt this way when there was a small chance that I might be found out. Anyways, once I had dispelled that notion, I let my back settle against the wall; it was as cold as ice and I winced when its temperature clashed with my own. From that point on I indulged myself with no interruption and heard no sound aside from the occasional flickering of the lightbulb outside the inlet and my own breathing.  
After a while, I must have lost some sense as in my trance I began to hear footsteps approaching my location. It evoked some anxiety and I tried to speed up my movements so that I could look relatively normal by the time the person passed by. However, I sensed that the person came very close and then stopped - but I didn't dare stick my head out because I didn't want to confirm my being here. I knew the person couldn't see me so I saw no harm in continuing. Not ten seconds after I started up again did I hear someone speak; the voice was so close that I felt it vibrate along the wall. I froze completely.  
"You okay, Brunner?" I immediately recognized the speaker as Sergeant Pavlović and thought it only natural that he would again look for me here. He was near whispering. I felt obliged to answer or else he would likely step beside the inlet to make sure I was still breathing.   
"Y-yeah, I'm fine." My voice was noticeably uneasy and I hoped that perhaps he'd just think I had been crying. God, I'd been standing there for about six minutes total just trying to feel some euphoria and it seemed that I would never get it as long as Pavlović stood there.   
"Right. Just making sure."   
I felt relieved when I heard him start to walk away. At that point, I was just itching to get it over with and I admittedly made a little bit more noise than I should have. However, it was all soon over, so I hurriedly tidied myself up and stepped out of the inlet. On my way back to the bunks I saw no one else and at that point everyone had pretty much fallen asleep. I was rather tired now and felt elated to be back under the warmth of the blankets. I fell asleep about five minutes later and just barely woke up again as I heard someone walk into the room. It was Pavlović - a mammoth force moving in the darkness - who I thought had already gone back to bed. I wondered if he had actually left or if he had just manipulated the sound of his footsteps to make me believe that he was gone. Either way, I didn't think much of it and shortly after fell back asleep. 

Private Roy Brunner, March 22, 1917

The next day - sometime in the silent afternoon - I was walking along one of the corridors as I went about my duties. That day had thus far been relatively peaceful. I'd conversed earlier with Burakgazi and seen Pavlović and Orlov here and there. I thankfully hadn't crossed paths with Bergman and only observed him from afar since we had communed at the table two nights ago. I also hadn't seen much of Cardoso or Desrosiers either and assumed that they preferred to tag along with Bergman.   
I was alone in one of the bricked rooms a while later busy with a duty I was given. My back was to the entrance and I was crouched on the floor checking various supplies. Footsteps pervaded the corridor behind me but I ignored them as such. In the midst of my work, I did not realize that someone had come into the room; as soon as I turned to nod at him, I was swept upwards. Someone had clasped his arms over mine so that I was wound in a straightjacket of sorts. Since he had snuck up from behind, my only indicator to his identity was his rowdy movements and hyena-like laugh that seemed like it would cause my skull to vibrate.   
"What the Hell are you doing, Cardoso?!" I writhed in his grasp but he was ultimately more powerful than me. I could tell that he was smiling like a madman and his grip around my upper body was rather painful - not playful like Burakgazi's. He picked me up and we turned towards the entrance where I saw Private Desrosiers leaning against the brick. He had no expression on his face and still looked rather pale from when I last saw him two nights ago. I thought about asking him for help but decided against it since I doubted if there was anything he could do with his weak stature. That, and I'm not sure if he would have helped me anyways.   
"I got 'im, Serge!" Cardoso yelled and since he was restraining me from behind his yell sounded off right next to my ear.  
At this point I had ceased to struggle and decided to just bear with whatever was going to happen next. I didn't quite know which sergeant Cardoso was referring to but highly suspected it was the explosive one which Cardoso and Desrosiers seemed to admire.   
"You just gave up, hah?" Cardoso spoke next to my ear and I stopped listening when I saw somebody behind Desrosiers. He gracefully stepped aside and in walked their overseer, Bergman. He had no particular look on his face but I could tell that he was itching to execute whatever plan he had. Bergman said no words and the last thing I remember was a fist flying towards my face and then an immense amount of pain scorching near my mouth. It was his fist, of course, but it rather felt like a bull had hooved me in the jaw. I soon felt blood trickling from my lips and Cardoso tightened his grip around me further. Bergman reared up again and I closed my eyes to brace for the impact; he punched me directly in the abdomen and I jolted upwards but my movement was greatly stifled.   
"You're weedy as shit." Cardoso snarled into my ear again and I thought I was about to fall as Bergman kicked at one of my legs. However, Cardoso's grip made it impossible for me to go anywhere, even if I ceased to stand up on my own accord.   
When I opened my eyes again, I felt Bergman's hand grasp my cheeks. It stung like Hell and I felt a tear well up in the corner of my eye. He held my face in one hand with such confidence that I almost felt like he'd throw me to the ground if Cardoso wasn't there. I was praying that he'd be done soon. Desrosiers hadn't moved and continued to watch Bergman as he went about beating me.   
"Pathetic. You're so Goddamn pathetic." Bergman stood there for a while gripping my face and I saw my own blood drip down his hand. I was honestly hoping for an end to this so I could go lay down. But as I considered how far away the bunks were from where I was, I felt spit land on my face. It was on my cheek just underneath my eye and it ran down the length of my face like a tear.   
I sighed in relief when Bergman at last let go and turned his back to me. He then treaded out the door and, as I watched Desrosiers rise to follow, I promptly fell to the floor. Cardoso had let go of me and I watched him exit as well. I heard him yell to address me once he was out in the corridor.   
"It was fun, Roy!"  
I was alone again but this time I was on the floor and the lower part of my face was streaked red with blood and slick with Sergeant Bergman's spit. My uniform was now filled with the scent of Cardoso and felt as if Desrosiers glare had mangled me too. There was a good deal of pain in my jaw, torso, and legs. I wondered if it was even possible that I could stand up. The bunks were rather far away and it was perhaps easier to go outside in the open rather than risk a second coming.   
I managed to stand up but my stance was rickety given the powerful kick to my leg. I clutched my abdomen in response to the sharp pain there and began to trudge outside. By the time my eyes met with the undergrowth of the French countryside, I stumbled and fell onto the soil. There was a wall behind me to rest on and I sat against it for a good while. While in the sun - instead of the blackness - I saw red once I closed my eyes. Because of the sunlight, I was warm again; I sat there for a long while existing with the vegetation and fauna around me.   
I heard heavy steps churn the dirt and I thought perhaps two bucks had walked nearby me. Maybe they thought I was dead and thus saw no danger. Perhaps when I woke I would be a buck too. The steps ceased and I opened my eyes in curiosity. There were no pair of bucks, just the towering figures of Sergeant Pavlović and Sergeant Orlov.   
"The Hell happened to you, Private?" Orlov said and bent down to get a closer look at me. His breath met with my blood and cooled my face. Pavlović stood next to him and looked either perplexed or disgusted. I couldn't quite tell.  
"I-I don't know." When I spoke I felt blood flow down the groove of my chin. Orlov's blue eyes widened in response and he straightened back up.  
"Looks like Bergman got to ya," He declared, "And that son of a bitch does not mess around."   
Pavlović did not say anything but moved towards me and bent down to help me up. I slung my arm around his shoulders and thus did not have to bear my own weight. I probably couldn't anyways due to the pain. Once I was up again, he began to walk and he more or less carried me. Orlov did not follow us but instead yelled at me once I was in the fort again.  
"Next time he charges at you, come and get me! I'll put a chain on him!"  
I don't much remember moving through the halls, but I do remember finally making it back to the bunks. Pavlović sat down next to me on my bunk. He wiped the blood off of my chin with his olive-hued sleeve and I suddenly felt very sleepy. I sat there and stared downwards and felt Pavlović's hand on my shoulder again. I just couldn't figure out why, but his touch was oddly gentle and comforting. It made me feel warm and I felt that I could fall asleep right then and there. When he began speaking, I closed my eyes.  
"Sorry that happened to you, Roy. Just stay here for the rest of today." Even with my eyes shut I could sense that he was looking at me. I almost didn't want him to leave, but I knew that was a stupid thought. The bunk creaked when he rose and I opened my eyes again. He was standing in front of me; the look on his face was tender and he was slightly grinning at me. It was perhaps because I was so thankful to him that I felt an arousal of butterflies in my stomach.  
"Take care." He said. When I blinked he was gone. I then felt this gnawing at my insides and I wasn't sure what it was. It was probably just the burning pain from Bergman's fist. I don't remember much after that as I fell asleep for a few hours.

Private Roy Brunner, March 23, 1917

When I awoke the next day, I could scarcely move without pain ramming throughout my entire body. I was permitted to stay in bed that day. I spent most of the day skimming through my books, but occasionally Burakgazi would stop by and talk to me. A couple times he tried to make me laugh - he was good at that. I knew I looked God-awful. When I laughed or touched my face, I felt dried blood crack near my lips and the consequent sting from the contact. It was all too real of a reminder of what occurred yesterday.   
Later on, when the sun had set, Burakgazi wanted me to come with him to the table we all frequented. I was hesitant to do so, but his incessant pleading swayed me and he helped me rise and walk though it was rather painful. When we got into the room, I was thankful to see Sergeant Pavlović and Sergeant Orlov - they almost always seemed to be together. Burakgazi helped me sit down and I sat there directly across from Pavlović, who was sitting beside Orlov. Burakgazi took his place next to me.   
"Decided to finally get out of bed today?" Orlov grinned at me and I noticed that Bergman, Cardoso, and Desrosiers were all absent.   
"I would have stayed in bed," I responded, "but Jack insisted that there was something more interesting to see out here." Burakgazi sat up in his chair and moved towards me. He brought his face close to mine and scanned it with his eyes darting and mouth open. He was being comical.  
"On second thought, I probably shoulda left you in there. You really do look like shit." He laughed and I did too, but it was softer in tone than his.  
"You probably won't see much of Bergman for a while. He tends to strike and disappear. He really is a coward." Orlov said.  
"Right," Pavlović added, "You won't have to worry about him for now." He nodded and sat up in his chair.   
I sighed and laid back in the chair. It wasn't too comfortable because the wood dug into my muscle - but it wasn't like I could get up and leave on my own accord. Burakgazi was leaning on the table with his chin resting on his fist.  
"God, Bergman really is a son of a bitch. Why'd he have to do that to old Roy?" He looked at me and continued, "You didn't do anything to piss him off, did you Roy?"   
"No, I didn't," I swallowed, "At least I don't believe so."   
"Bergman wants to kill everyone just because they exist." Orlov replied, rolling his eyes. Pavlović crossed his arms, looked down, and nodded as he listened. "He probably decided that he hated you when he saw you reading that book." He continued, "And his goons Cardoso and Desrosiers just follow him along like good boys. They're probably hiding in their nest right now plotting when they should shoot you, Roy." He laughed and looked at Pavlović, "But don't worry, I won't let that happen."   
Burakgazi put his hand on my shoulder as gently as he was capable of and Pavlović looked over at me.  
"Least you won't have to worry about getting shot when you're back home," Pavlović smiled, "Only thing you'll have to worry about is finding a honey."   
"Well, you and George don't have to worry much about that because you're both so damn gorgeous." Burakgazi said coyly, "But us fellows - me and Roy - we might have to try a little harder." Orlov smiled when he said this - it must have made him feel good.  
"For instance," He continued, "I know Roy's only had one or two gals, but I've had none." He made a helpless gesture with his hands.  
"That's because you scare them all away. We know how much you value a bowl of hot soup over a human life." Orlov responded.  
"That's a damn lie!" Burakgazi stood up a little in his chair like he was defending something. He looked at me for a second then said, "That's a lie, because I value Roy here! Isn't that right, Roy? I've always been there for you!"   
I grinned a little because he was and I valued that as well. "Yeah, you're always there for me. I wouldn't have made it out here if it wasn't for your help."   
Orlov sat back in his chair and chuckled, "Yeah, that's right, Jack. You helped Roy by dragging his battered and bruised body out of his comfortable bed and into these God-awful chairs. Now his ass is gonna be sore too and it's because you wanted him to come out here and suffer."   
"Whatever!" Burakgazi threw up his arms and sat back down. Then he huffed and looked at Pavlović and Orlov, "What about you two? It seems like you're always together. It's almost like you're in love!"   
They both laughed rather loudly at this, and Pavlović said, "We've always been pals. George and I are essentially the same, and that's why we get along so well."  
Orlov continued where he left off, "Exactly. But one way we differ is that Andrew's a bonafide romantic. He's very into other people."   
I felt my hypothesis about Pavlović essentially confirmed when Orlov said this; it was obvious to me how caring of a person he was. We were lucky to have him here. He must have known what I was thinking about, as he looked to me and grinned.   
"I'm very into Roy," Burakgazi said, putting his arm around the back of my chair. "He's so calm all the time. I wish I could have his patience!" He smiled at me and I returned the gesture. Then he suddenly gave me a peck on the cheek and looked at me like a stupid kid.  
"You're too physical for me, Jack." I said, yawning.   
My yawn set off a sort of chain reaction in everyone else and then I realized how tired I was again.   
"Well, it's about time for me to get some shut-eye," Orlov said, slowly getting up, "And you all need it too. Especially since we've got to get up bright and early tomorrow."   
Pavlović got up soon after and bade us farewell too. Burakgazi helped me back to the bunks and said goodnight to me. He promised that I’d feel like my old self again tomorrow. I felt so comfortable that I fell asleep shortly after he went to his own bed.


	3. Chapter 3

Private Roy Brunner, March 24, 1917

I woke up in a few hours to the strong scent of tobacco. It was strange that anyone would be up having a smoke at what I presumed was 0300 hours. I thought it was perhaps Burakgazi, but that idea was soon dissolved as I looked over and beheld him wrapped up in blankets and sleeping with his mouth wide open. Oddly enough, I felt compelled to get up and see who it was. I sensed that something was awry.  
My face was still bruised but at least I could now walk on my own without much soreness. I stood up and left the room. Since the scent was so great, I easily followed it to that solitary hallway which housed the inlet in the wall. My intent was to check in on whoever was the origin of the smoke and then return to my bed. Once I reached the inlet, I hesitated with walking beside it. I wondered if someone would have been using it for the same purposes as me, but I supposed it would be too difficult to attend to one's business while smoking. I eventually walked beside it and beheld Sergeant Pavlović through the haze. He was leaning against the wall with the cigarette between his lips and his arms crossed. When he saw me, he did not raise his brow; he had this grave feeling about him. Because I was so shocked to see Pavlović at this time of night I stood there for a few seconds observing him. He seemed to do the same - his eyes wandering over me - and ultimately motioned for me to enter. I figured that he just wanted to talk and thus saw no harm in humoring him.  
Once I entered, he casually put out his cigarette and stood there for a while looking downwards.   
"Can't sleep?" I said quietly. His gaze persisted near the floor.  
"Yeah, you could put it like that." His voice sounded hoarse as if that cigarette had dried all of the moisture in his mouth. Then I became cognizant of his meaning when my own gaze fell downwards. The front of his trousers was noticeably distended and I suddenly felt both uneasy and a little warm. I quickly averted my gaze and looked back to his face; his features were rather placid. Even though he stood there in silence I found just his presence to be rather overwhelming.  
"Well," I sighed, "I just wanted to make sure you were fine." I then turned my back to him to leave. Once I turned, he moved to seize me around the torso from behind much like Cardoso did. But, at this point, I did not know what to expect. I found it hard to believe that anybody was coming to punch me in the face.  
"W-wh-the Hell are you doing?" My voice was a slow but panicked whisper; I felt my body suffuse with warmth as my entire backside was now flush with Pavlović's front. We were slightly bent over and I could not move my arms to wriggle out due to his strength. Even if I could have overcome him, I was still a little sore in my torso. My first thought was that he was trying to hurt me, but that admittedly didn't make any sense coming from someone like him. He kind of held me for a long while and I was in complete surprise; I uttered no words and instead stood there with my heart racing and my breathing uneven. However, I became cognizant of the distention again once he started moving his hips against my backside. I didn't quite know what to think but felt a deep blush imbue my face - its heat was intensified by the way he pushed his face into the dip between my neck and shoulder. As he rubbed himself against me, I found myself utterly unable to comprehend why this was happening or whether it was right or wrong. Because I was in shorts, I could feel him all too well - and the almost inaudible noises coming from him were proof to me that he felt it strongly as well. I didn't know if I should say anything and I ultimately decided against it. It wasn't like he was going to hurt me, and I could just go back to bed afterwards. Maybe I was doing him a favor, even. He worked undeniably harder than me and to be refused the one thing that all young men pursue must have taken a dire toll on him. So I just let it happen.  
Soon enough, his grip became momentarily tighter around me, his movements became shallow, and eventually he ceased to move. I thought he'd let me go once he finished but he held me there for a while.   
"Andrew?" I said softly and my voice was tremulous. He simply continued to deeply breathe onto my skin and it was then that I looked downwards and became aware of my own discomfort. My eyes widened a little; I hadn't any idea why being used by a man would elicit this sort of reaction. I swallowed thickly because I suddenly felt like I was going to faint and fall.   
When he let go of me, I for some reason wished he hadn't. I kept my back to him because I didn't want him to see the front of my shorts. I desperately wanted to relieve my discomfort and almost considered asking him to leave so that I could. However, another part of me did not want him to leave and I hadn't any idea why.   
"I'll be leaving now." I said still with my back to him. Then I promptly left and thus did not see his face nor his physical state. My heart was beating insanely fast as I hurried back to the bunks. I took a substantial risk once I got back under the covers; since I supposed that everyone else must have been asleep by now I decided to relieve myself. I could not have slept otherwise - it had grown too great to ignore. I put my free hand over my mouth just in case and finished rather quickly. By the time Pavlović appeared again, I was so overcome by fatigue that I barely saw his towering figure traverse the darkness.

Private Roy Brunner, March 24, 1917

I woke up a few hours later along with everyone else and the rest of the day went on quite normally. I rarely saw Sergeant Pavlović; only glimpses of his face and body and then he seemed to disappear from my view. Whenever I did see him, I felt this strange pang in my stomach. Whenever I did see him, it was a constant reminder of what occurred several hours earlier before the sun rose above the horizon. I remembered it vividly and the memory stirred something within me. I could not ignore the feeling as hard as I tried to forget or think of something else. The entire day I felt bothered but strangely calm. As I worked, I ultimately decided that I would forgive him. He hadn't harmed me and even through my discomfort I found gratification.  
At one point, I had some time on my hands and decided to indulge in one of my books - it was an attempt to divert my attention elsewhere. The book I chose was "The Harvester" by Gene Stratton-Porter. From what I'd read so far, it's set in a pure woodland much like the one near the fort. I was several chapters in and essentially ignored all that went on around me; occasionally others went in and out of the room as I sat on my bunk. It was rather quiet today.  
Eventually, as my eyes moved to the top of the next page, I recognized a figure in my peripheral vision. At first, I thought it was likely Burakgazi, but I was of course proven wrong upon shifting my attention to him. It was Sergeant Pavlović and I was admittedly a little startled. But, by now the sun had set and it made sense that he would have some time on his hands to do as he pleased. Why he wished to come to me I hadn't any clear idea, but I felt an apology near.  
I nodded at him and he sat down on the bunk across from mine. It was then that he leaned in towards me so I put my book down and gave him my attention. Admittedly, I was feeling nervous because his closeness evoked memories more vivid than when I saw him from afar earlier today. He was right there and I could reach out and touch him if I wanted to.   
"Roy," He said in a low voice, "I want to apologize for what I did." I didn't want him to feel bad for what he did as I understood why he did it. I didn't think what he did was right, but I wasn't so uncomfortable that I would say it was wrong. He looked at me while I was thinking of what to say and I felt that pang again.  
"Well, I forgive you." When I said this, he shook his head and looked down.  
"No, no. It's not okay, because I'm not like that."  
"But I think you did it because you were tired. You weren't in the right mindset and you acted on instinct. I would have done the same."  
He shook his head again as if to prevent my words from entering his ears.   
"It's not okay because I'm not a queer." His voice had decreased to a whisper and he continued, "You wouldn't have done the same because I know you're not either."   
He was right, but I for some reason thought it justified in this sense anyways. I liked women, but, at the end of the day, was it really any different when either way felt the same? I mean, we were uneasy all the time and we all just wanted to go home. So why was it wrong to indulge in good feelings whenever they were presented to us? It didn't mean anything, and I'd likely forget it'd ever happened 10 years from now. I’d be 31 and probably married and I wouldn't remember that while I was in the service one of my sergeants stepped out of line for 10 minutes. I just wouldn't remember it.  
"It's fine," I said, "Honestly." I looked at him earnestly and he returned the stare. Then he gave a small but sincere smile and I couldn't really figure out why. Maybe he finally accepted my reasoning too.   
He looked away from me for several seconds and I noticed that it was because someone was walking into the room. I turned my head and looked too; it was Sergeant Orlov. He approached us and stood between the two bunks.  
"Huh, so this is where you've been." He was talking to Pavlović but nodded at me. Then he continued, "You ready to get back to work?"   
"Absolutely." He answered and began to rise from the bunk. I watched him as he did so and he nodded to me as he left.   
I picked up my book after he was gone and tried to read again but I for some reason couldn't. The pages were dull between my fingers and I couldn't focus on the words in front of me. I felt hungry but I had just eaten not too long ago. The laces on my boot were awry; I was going to trip and have some great fall if I didn't watch out.


	4. Chapter 4

Private Roy Brunner, March 25, 1917

I would be inclined to call today, Sunday, more like a living dream than a monotonous reality. It was business as usual from dawn till about noon but the rest of the day I spent outside in the company only of Sergeant Pavlović. The day began strangely, as while in the company of my two sergeants and Burakgazi I beheld Bergman, Cardoso, and Desrosiers for the first time in several days. For some reason, I no longer felt threatened by them, and as soon as I recognized their countenances they disappeared. I guess it was true that I would no longer be bothered by them. That was perhaps the result of befriending Pavlović, Orlov, and Burakgazi; I had now secured their incomparable protection and support. If I wanted to be bothered by Bergman again, I would have to stoop down to his wicked ways - I would have to dissolve the jubilant kinship I had now created.  
Dawn, as I mentioned, was spent in nature. Pavlović and I spent that time sat amongst the young blades of grass: backs settled against the brick, arm to arm and knee to knee as if we were engaged in ceremony. The time was filled with small talk. There was something inexplicably captivating about the world outside; a deep purple stained the sky and on its horizon eclipsed the orange sun - its reach so great that our white skin shone the color of citrus and a golden beam set in our already fair eyes. Nearby the black hills gathered rose colored clouds - the faded pink at their wispy tops sighed into a sanguine shade as they traversed the atmosphere. At times I found myself near sleep, and genuinely cared not whether I succumbed to slumber while in Pavlović's proximity. The slow hum of the crickets as well as the quieted warble of the local starlings and the distant mewls of fauna added to the tranquility. I listened intently to Pavlović's low voice as he spoke about his humble life and time abroad: a crooning very near to my ear that harbored a lulling effect. As he spoke, the distant streams circulated, carrying various shimmering fish and bellowing frogs and droning insects. He placed his hand on my knee at one point in his monologue; it added this heaviness to my being and I felt my skin there warmed. I kept my hands fixed in my lap, fingers intertwined with the intricate olive fabric of my uniform. There was a shiver in the air as the sun fell lower and lower and the winds rhythmically rustled the young green leaves with their blooming buds. Their scents pervaded the air and, nearby, I perceived the hushed but sometimes booming voices of exhausted men echoing from the walls inside the fort. I thought of home; home seemed to lose its beckoning importance to me over time, but I supposed that was inevitable as I attained greater comfort. I looked at Pavlović and could no longer decide where I wanted to be - the streets and foundations of my hometown a distant memory.  
The trees of the woodland were bearing fruits now - firm apples and plump berries and sweet citruses of a mixed shade of orange, purple, red. They were ready to be plucked from their roots and consumed. Who could resist their temptation, alluring us even from afar? Who could refuse to indulge in their vibrant, smoothed flesh? It seemed that we were in perpetual youth; perhaps we would forever stain our hands dark with the sweet nectars born from the garden.  
Eventually, I must have succumbed to the lullaby of the pasture, as I faintly remember Pavlović speaking of his own childhood before I drifted off. When I awoke, the sun had sunk completely below the hills and he was also napping with his arm slung around my shoulders. It was time to head back in but I struggled with the idea of moving. I felt quite like a child again, secure under the arm of my comrade and dear friend. With his eyes shut he looked quite peaceful and I wondered of what he might be dreaming. 

Private Roy Brunner, March 26, 1917

It was inevitable in regards to my nature and thus the nature that is affixed to all men that I should once again find myself alone in the darkness. It was inevitable that I would succumb to the shockwave once again and undoubtedly many times more. So there I stood, down that corridor, hidden within the inlet, indulging myself. This time, however, I felt an incompleteness perhaps brought on by my duration of being here. I felt that it was not enough to engage in solitude, and that one day the beckoning for companionship would grow so crucial that I would become feverish. That is what happened to my fellow men, I know, at some time or another.   
It was not wrong, then, when I sensed that I was being listened to. I expected it and I knew it very well. The rector called to me and I received it with a little fear; but my desire to unravel the unknown was substantially greater. Who else would track my footsteps to hear my plight in the darkness than Pavlović? I asked him why he was here, and the uneasiness in my voice was a confession in and of itself. To my question I received no wisdom, but I continued, perhaps in anticipation, and was soon face to face with his towering being. I could faintly see him and I stood there exposed much like the young fruit that tempts the yearning bystander with its vibrant colors and overwhelming sweetness. I didn't know what to say or do but I let go and allowed the wave to consume me: We had no exchange of words, but I found it hard to dispute him when he took me into his hand and resumed where I left off. He pushed me into the wall with his immense strength and there I remained caught in the blinding web of his influence. I had fallen into the calm river; I was drowning and only heard the pressure of the water swirling in my ears.   
"Roy, Roy, Roy…" I became conscious again. His closeness was such that I shared his warmth and the slight dampness that seeped from his skin. Then he took my hand in his own and guided it to the front of his trousers. In honesty, I felt a small repulsion in the pit of my stomach, but I quelled the disgust I felt by transforming the impression of what I felt. His hand around me I imagined as my own and, in the same way, I imagined that his discomfort in my hand was my own. Then I soon fell back into rhythm - he joined me in the escalating lull and it seemed that not soon after we were both in shambles; our hearts racing but slowly attaining normalcy; our breath shoving in and out of our lungs.   
And when I looked to him I felt feverish. When I looked at him, I was so overwhelmed with something and I didn't know what it was. He answered me indirectly by holding me there for a long while. I was so overcome with the drowsiness that stems from bliss that I nearly fell into the grasp of sleep while in his embrace. It didn't feel wrong, per say, and in his deprivation what saintly man can resist the impossible lure of such carnal pleasures?


	5. Chapter 5

Private Roy Brunner, March 27, 1917

The next day we met once more and his apologies were more profuse yet no more sincere than the last time. He more or less repeated the same thing - another swearing of his preference that could not be preferred while he remained here. While he remained in front of me, speaking, his face was wholly stern yet concealed a notion of hunger.   
"I won't do it again," He said, "Ever." I had reason to doubt him. This was the second offense yet I somehow remained unoffended.   
"Didn't I already tell you that it's okay?" He shook his head at this. Despite all his denial and swearing, I knew that it was likely that he would do it again. What or who was to stop him? And, in all honesty, it brought me fear to think that he could suddenly disappear.   
"Listen," I continued, and when I spoke he listened earnestly, "You can." Upon saying this, I felt a slight unease. I'm not sure why I said it, as it was both an invitation and a validation of the actions he took against me. By the way his fair eyes closed a little and fixated on some nonexistent object among the sheets of my bunk, it was apparent that he was engaged in deep reflection. Perhaps he hadn't understood my meaning. Or, on the other hand, perhaps he did, and was accordingly shocked.   
I sat there with my arms folded, watching him as a chess player waits for his opponent to act. But, he did nothing for a long while; he remained there on the bunk next to mine and I patiently anticipated his next words. The fort was strangely cool at this time of day despite the sun being at its peak directly above our heads. The brick outside absorbed its immense warmth and kept the inside cool much like we were under a fig tree's shade. Pollens wound their way around the brick as to always fill my senses with the calming aroma of the flowering woodland.   
When I looked downwards, I noticed that my boot was toe-to-toe with his - the laces of mine lazily tied. I bent down from where I sat to fix them, but as I collected the lace throughout my fingers I heard, "Roy," and I let them go wholly untied. I looked up to his face; we both sat motionless - I in anticipation and him in restraint.   
"Roy," he repeated, "I need you to hear me out."   
"Of course." I didn't move - the curiosity froze my body in suspense.  
"If it's really all well," he muttered and I nodded, "Can I put it in?"   
I sat there with my mouth slightly agape and felt my face suffuse with warmth as soon as the words flowed from his lips. Now that he had shocked me, I was at an utter loss for words. I didn't have the faintest idea what that was about. No thoughts formulated in my mind.  
"I need it." He said, and he glared at me in a way that compelled me to agree with him. My heart began racing as I found my way back into the conversation. It would be like the first time we met face-to-face in the inlet, but I would have to surrender all I knew. I struggled to comprehend even the execution of the act.   
I kept my gaze on him like I expected him to say something else. Then he placed his hand firm on my shoulder and felt a flurry gather in my abdomen once again. I think I finally started to understand what that feeling was.  
"Think about it, won't you?"   
"Sure." I nodded back to him and he let go of my shoulder.  
He leaned in closely, "At sunset, let me know what you think, Roy." Then he began to get up and eventually walked away. What in the Hell was I supposed to think about?   
I swallowed thickly and sat there for a long while with my eyes closed. I heard my boot laces being fiddled with; I opened my eyes and saw Burakgazi as he knelt on the ground tying them for me. 

Private Roy Brunner, March 27, 1917

Until sunset that day Pavlović did not bother me. Thus I had quite a long time to think. I considered how much I trusted him and how great of a friend he was. But I was beyond nervous of the unknown - I clenched my fist to my chest in fear but by God I wanted to do it.   
I convinced myself that I was doing it for him and not me. I didn't know how it could work or what would happen, but he had this aura about him that reassured me and compelled me to take the leap. Despite my confusion, perhaps there could blossom gratification; then it would all be worth it. And even if it all went haywire, I could just go back to bed and forget all about it 10 years later. However, the thought of forgetting it all evoked a melancholy feeling. I did not want to forget the time I spent here in camaraderie; if I did not want to forget Burakgazi and Orlov, I assuredly did not want to forget Pavlović. I did not want to forget him and I don't think I ever could.   
With regard to the present, when I saw Pavlović throughout the day, I was convinced that I wanted it too. I enjoyed his company and companionship. I enjoyed the warmth he left on my skin; I thought about that warmth quite a bit and those impressions made my heart thump and set a deep blush across my face.   
When the sun set below the horizon and the sky suffused with oceanic blackness, I found myself in his company yet again. This time we were outside, perched on the earthy sod against the white brick as we did a few nights ago. He had his hand on my knee, as if to provide more reassurance. He would appeal to me again and I would answer in the affirmative, "Yes." A look of relief imbued his features and he directed it towards me; I felt like smiling for some reason, so I did. It was a strangely joyful moment: I suppose just seeing his reaction made me elated even though I placed my integrity into his hands. But in that moment I felt as though my integrity was in trusted hands - my desire far outgrew my fear or any unsteady notions I had about my manhood.


	6. Chapter 6

Private Roy Brunner, March 27, 1917

"Where're you headin', Brunner?" Sergeant Orlov stood under the arch which was my way out of the bunks. I was heading for that one corridor which housed the inlet, of course. It was late into the night now and the sun had been replaced by the moon; it was stark white and unfathomable but I felt its wisps pull on my fingertips.   
"I was just taking a walk," I responded. God, I was so nervous but so inexplicably driven.  
"At this ungodly hour?" he raised his brow, "Good boys like you should be sleeping." I tried walking out through the space to his side; he stepped in front of me.  
"This is no normal walk, is it?" he said, "Who are you lookin' for?"  
"I don't know, but I'd like for you to move." I looked at him earnestly and he returned the look.  
"I'm a smart man, Roy." He gave a coy grin and then stepped out of my way.   
"That you are."   
I left his company and found my way down that corridor into that inlet; nowhere did I see Pavlović. My movements were so feverish that I no doubt left room for error as I searched for him. He was nowhere to be seen and I was in such a frenzy that I simply decided to indulge without him. Perhaps he had backed out at the last moment - maybe he gained some sense in these crucial moments and that thought brought me some sorrow. Or perhaps he had fallen asleep - but who could have crowned sleep the victor against passion in such a battle? Not him, I know. How could he have slept?   
It seemed as though a wave of yearning washed over me. When my hand made contact with the front of my shorts my skin became flushed with the cold heat of deprivation. I felt a little anger towards him, even. I closed my eyes and thought of his face - his handsome face - and felt both perturbed and infatuated. The thought energized my movements and after a while I discarded thought to become a creature of feeling. So, I was rather startled when I felt someone's fingers wrap around my wrist; the sudden touch forced me to open my eyes and I beheld Pavlović. He had appeared as if from thin air, or I must have been so far gone as to relinquish my hearing.  
"Where the Hell have you been?" I was beyond relieved to see him and his presence reawakened a flurry within me. It was then and there I felt more starved than I had ever felt.   
He didn't answer, but I know I must have been temporarily blinded not to have seen him. Now that he was here, that question required no answer. He took me into his hand I realized I didn't care much for discourse anyhow. I felt as though I should do my part too, but as I reached out towards him, he propelled my hand backwards by pushing his body into mine. So, then I hadn't any idea what to do with my hands; I supposed I would just leave them flush against the brick behind my back. And we stood there for a while like that, his face placid in front of mine, his hand moving around me.  
Eventually, he let go of me. Then my face suffused with fervor; I felt his hands travel over my skin towards my backside and my instinct was to clutch onto the front of his shirt. Quickly, he pushed my shorts down so that they lain midway up my thighs, then I soon felt his hands grasp my buttocks. A small tremor ran throughout my body when I felt one of his fingers prod there; he pressed his face down into my shoulder and I held my breath when I felt it go in. The feeling was rather strange but I became accustomed to it the longer he pushed it in and pulled it out. It even began to feel inexplicably good as time passed by. By now, I was breathing through my mouth and there was some area inside of me that shot excitement through my veins whenever his finger graced it. When he realized what he was doing, he prodded at it rapidly and I instinctively inhaled; the breath was rather cacophonous as it eked down my clenched throat. He flashed a quick look at me - a warning of sorts - and shoved in another finger. He directed it towards the same location as the other and it evoked this animalistic reaction in me. I shot my hips towards him: My nude front rubbed against the distended front of his shorts. When I did this, I felt his mouth open on the skin of my shoulder. He removed his fingers from me, placed his hands on my hips, and shoved them in a half-turn motion so that I would face towards the wall. I let go of his shirt and turned around, slightly bent forwards with my cheek flush against the brick.   
He hugged my torso from behind and it was reminiscent of the first time we met here under the guise of darkness. Except now, there was no restriction caused by principles or fabrics; he brought his mouth near to my ear and I felt him on my backside. Then he slowly pressed into me and the sensation was more strange than it was painful. It was as though he sensed this and thus the only movement he made was the tightening of his arms around my torso. I stood there nearly frozen but regained heat when his arm traveled downwards and he took me into his hand once again. The heat from his breath against the skin of my neck was overwhelming and the frenzy I was in compounded as he started to move inside me. My sense escaped me; I soon began to feel this unparalleled euphoria - much greater than the kind brought on when one sinks his teeth into the sweet, dark flesh of a springtime fig. One could gather me all the young, honeyed dates, apples, citruses, grapes, peaches, pears of the world and yet still none could compare to this; I could indulge and indulge and knew that no one would round the corner to cease the exchange. I had fallen so far that I could not stop.   
"G- my-my God," I muttered yet knew not what I was saying; it seemed that not long after Pavlović said something too and my back was on the floor - his figure towering between my elevated legs. The floor was like ice on my back but my skin was ablaze and he quickly picked up where he left off. I felt very near the edge. I watched him as he moved like a pendulum inside of me, his eyes shut and his face very near to mine. In that moment, that mysterious spell in my abdomen could finally be named - I think I loved him. I rocked forwards and grasped his face in my hands and I kissed him - I didn't think twice about it. While my action was an impulse, his calm yet passionate response made me posit whether he felt the same way. I couldn't be sure, though he continued to return the gesture and I felt like I was seconds from imploding. I had to catch my breath as he pulled his face away; at that moment, the pleasure I experienced was unbearable and I felt compelled in my euphoria to express my love for him.  
"I-I love you, I love you." I was completely out of breath and not seconds after reached the edge. He removed himself from me then feverishly indulged himself over my abdomen. With half-lidded eyes I watched him; not soon after his movements seemed to tremor and I felt warm liquid coalesce on my skin. Then I was exhausted but extremely jubilant. I sat up perfectly straight and was a little surprised when he leaned forward on his knees to embrace me. I returned the gesture and could not help but feel my face flushed out of pure infatuation.   
"Roy."   
"Yeah?"  
"I love you."

Private Roy Brunner, March 27, 1917

We sat there on the brick for a long while in total silence. He had his arm slung around my shoulders and I drifted in and out of sleep with my head against his shoulder. I was very drowsy but harbored this inexplicable feeling of joy. I didn't think much about what had just happened - whether I had committed some irreparable wrong - but I didn't much care. I wondered how things had led to this and realized I didn't much care for that either. Now that we were here, closer than before and with some enduring and transcendent feeling between us, I could not bring myself to analyze and categorize and scrutinize what I did and what I felt towards Andrew Pavlović.   
After a long while, he began speaking, and I closed my eyes as he did. His voice was very low, like a mumble, and I could tell that he looked down at me as he spoke.  
"I suppose now I should explain myself." His fingers shifted around my arm, then he continued, "But my explanation might not be so eloquent. From the moment we acquainted, I felt warmly towards you. I was elated when you accepted my advances and, somewhere along the way, that warmth evolved into deep affection. I can't adequately explain it, other than I wanted you and I wanted you to love me in return."   
After he said that, I felt the flurry return and I could not help but smile a little. I realized now that, if the next sunrise I did not behold him, my spirit would be utterly crushed - the dejection unbearable. I realized now that I needed to be with him, even when it was all over.  
"Now that we're here," he said, "I feel complete."   
His grip around me became tighter and I felt satiated as well; he rested his head against mine. We could have spent all night in that inlet, but that would have looked strange to everyone else. We stood, but before we left, he embraced me for the last time that night. I never really cared for anyone as I now did for him.  
“I love you, Roy Brunner,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this far. This is different from what I usually do, as I usually work with established characters. These are all my own original characters. The story is original as well; I only borrowed historical elements such as setting and dialogue and dress.


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